


The May Fair

by Lunasong365



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Historical, London, May Fair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunasong365/pseuds/Lunasong365
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale eats sausage on a stick and Crowley indirectly saves the lives of generations of ducks.<br/>And we find out why Crowley lives in Mayfair.<br/>Contains historical references to the May Fair, an annual event held from 1686 - 1764.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The May Fair

1686

Crowley checked the cards collected in his incoming basket in the parlour and noticed an envelope etched with familiar handwriting. _Angel_ , he sneered inwardly with a small spark of hopeful anticipation. _What’s he want now…and why has it been so long since I’ve heard from him?_ He grabbed it from the stack and flourished his letter opener to slice it open. A sheet of parchment fell from the mangled envelope and Crowley snatched it up.

 _Crowley,_ the letter read:

_I’ve been asked to assist with a new project to help develop economic opportunities for sustenance farmers and townspeople alike. Please join me 1 May at Shepherd Market which will be the new location of the expanded St. James’s Fair. It would be my pleasure to show you around._

_Regards,_

_A. Fell_

Crowley rolled his eyes. _Farmers?_   Please. He knew what that meant, and it didn’t smell good. Still, it would be nice to see Aziraphale again, and perhaps cause some trouble amongst the livestock. Last time he’d had opportunity to deal with husbandry, all he’d had to do was stick his tongue out at a herd of pigs and they’d all run down a hill and jumped in some lake. He checked his calendar and circled the date, planning for a day in the country.

*

Crowley caught up with Aziraphale, who was helping direct fair traffic. “Goats on the left, sheep to the right, there you go…Oh, hello, Crowley!” he beamed. A flock of black chickens scattered as the pair entered the gates.

“It’s really quite a wonderful opportunity,” Aziraphale said as he showed Crowley through the booths lining the high street. “The country folk have the opportunity to sell or trade to a larger market items they’ve been crafting all winter, or their surplus livestock, and the townspeople can purchase quality merchandise or fresh produce. We’re thinking of calling it the May Fair and making it an annual event.”

“Imaginative name,” snorted Crowley. He had quite fancied some of the exquisite miniature wood carvings at the last stall, but wasn’t about to admit that to Aziraphale. _Perhaps I’ll come back later…the fair runs for a fortnight!_ He eyed the cheerful, wholesome, innocent faces of a couple of country milkmaids gaping in excited wonderment at the variety of items on display.

“I know exactly what this fair needs,” he smirked deviously, “to create a name for itself.”

 

1708

Aziraphale was eating a sausage on a stick. “Incredible,” he murmured with relish. “What will they think of next?”

Crowley was in the middle of munching his way through an oblong bread roll. “Hmgk,” he noncommittally managed. Internally, however, he was tucking a thought away for later.

The two were walking along the high street of a much-evolved May Fair. In the past twenty-odd years, the focus of the Fair had changed from a farmers’ market to a market for…well, just about anything that could be bought or sold. Crowley had encouraged the diversification but, truth be told, it hadn’t required much active encouragement. When there was money to be made, humans had no lack of imagination. As leaseholder of a great deal of property in Shepherd Market, Crowley sold the licences for booth spaces and continued to be surprised as every year, new and improved schemes and skullduggeries were presented for his assignments (it just wouldn’t _do_ to have two adjacent stalls with similar machinations!).

“I do miss the cows, though,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “They have such kind faces. Oh…look!” he suddenly interjected. “There’s some milkmaids. Perhaps there are cows here after all. Poor dears, they must be catching their death of cold in those skimpy outfits.” Crowley followed Aziraphale’s gaze to a tent where out front, some young ladies were…on display.

“No. No cows.” Crowley quickly diverted Aziraphale’s attention. “Have you read the reviews in the _Observator_?” He flattened out a broadsheet on a nearby table and invited Aziraphale to sit.

EDITORIAL

_The May Fair is of ill consequence, tending to corrupt the minds and manners of many people inasmuch that it is now one of the most pestilent nurseries of impurity and vice. There are constant and open scenes of impiety and profaneness. Can any rational man imagine that her Majesty would permit so much lewdness as is committed at May Fair, for so many days together, so near to her royal palace, if she knew anything of the matter? I don’t believe the patent for that fair allows the patentees the liberty of setting up the devil’s shops and exposing his merchandise for sale._

Aziraphale harrumphed and looked around again. Sword-swallowing, fortune-telling, gambling, fire-eaters, mountebanks of all sorts…some might be considered entertainment, but others were definitely Wiles to be Thwarted. Crowley returned to Aziraphale’s side with a warm square of gingerbread wrapped in a napkin.

“Try this,” he tempted the angel. “And look…there’s a puppet show!”

 

1764

Even Crowley thought the May Fair might be getting a bit out of control. Fifty years of dealing with the development of the Fair, along with the continuing independent advancement of creative ways to separate man from money, was leaving him feeling just a bit…jaded. Still, when Aziraphale had dropped by the office to inquire about the progress of the Fair, he thought it might be a good idea to check things out first hand.

Crowley and Aziraphale walked down the high street, munching on gingerbread and feeling just a bit overwhelmed at the number of options presented. There was a cacophony of sounds and colours: pitchmen shouting, banners and flags of bright hue, roving musicians and actors, and gaily-costumed fair-goers. Every sensation seemed to be notched up several degrees past that with which a supernatural entity could feel comfortable, but the humans didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, they seemed to _revel_ in it. Crowds swarmed the street partaking of every entertainment the fair had to offer.

“Oh, look; there’s the puppet show!” Aziraphale tried to latch onto some tenet of normalcy, but his eyes widened in horror as he watched one puppet methodically chop the heads off the other puppets with an axe. The throng surrounding the proscenium roared with laughter and approval.

“They’re killing puppets! Oh, Crowley, this is more than I can bear. Please, let’s find something else to do.”

Crowley was feeling much the same way. He glanced around quickly and focussed on a sign stating: DUCKING POND. _Well, that seems somewhat harmless._ “C’mon, Aziraphale, let’s see what this is about.” He steered the angel off the high street onto the path on which several other gentlemen, some with dogs, were also descending.

“What’s happening here?” Crowley asked one of the bystanders at the pond. The gentleman turned and pointed. “See that duck in the middle of the pond? You can pay your fee and enter your dog, and the master of the hunt will let them loose to try to catch the duck. The duck will keep diving to escape the dogs, but it can’t do so forever. Eventually it will tire, and one of the dogs will catch it, and then they’ll all tear it apart! It’s great fun, and the owner of the winning dog gets a grand prize!”

Crowley felt ill. He grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and muttered, “OK, that’s it. I’m done with this. I’m done with _all_ of this.”

*

Within the month Crowley had reverted all his leaseholdings back to the Grosvenors, with the exception of one block which he held for himself. Just for speculation. He’d heard that real estate development was going to be the next big thing.

**Author's Note:**

> References:  
> The Gentleman's Magazine, Vol 119 (March 1816) "Recollections of the Amusements of May Fair."  
> Old and New London: Volume 4. Originally published by Cassell, Petter & Galpin, London, 1878  
> Other on-line sources.


End file.
